


The Last Verse

by Sorin



Series: A Song of Two Worlds [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 05:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20483798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorin/pseuds/Sorin
Summary: Not all stories have happy endings, but the ones that do deserve special attention.





	The Last Verse

**Author's Note:**

> I got enough positive feedback about Yhen'a to write more about him, so here's a small drabble:) So far it's all G rated, but I mean... have you met me? :D;;;
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Yhen’a didn’t like Mor Dhona. _At All._

He crossed his arms and scowled up at the glittering Crystal Tower, irritated as though it were personally at fault- G’raha had been pleased as punch when Yhen’a had taken him up through, but he’d bade the Seeker turn back before reaching the top, and _ah,_ he was _displeased_\- to say the least. Yhen’a had stood firm and utterly refused to take him further, and so G’raha had disappeared back the way they came- and Yhen’a had continued up and gotten the absolute stuffing beaten out of him my Emperor Xande. He’d finished the Allagan clone off, luckily, but it had been an ordeal… and when G’raha came running back up, this time with Cid and the others, Yhen’a was too exhausted to care.

Now, having had his injuries tended but facing a situation far worse, there was nothing to do but wait while Rammbroes and the others worked out the question of _how do we re-open that portal without killing everyone_. Those types of things were best left to the minds that could handle them- Yhen’a preferred to be pointed in the direction he was meant to go. He was not stupid by any means, but he was not educated beyond the very basics… except in music. Thus, finding himself with nothing else to do, the bard sat down outside the tent he shared with G’raha and idly lifted his fingers to his small harp. How he wished for a full-size one, he thought wistfully, one so large that he had to sway back and forth to play it- _then_ he could truly tell the tale of this place, of what he’d seen and experienced.

For a little while there was nothing but silence from the tent behind him- and then Yhen’a’s sharp ears picked up the soft sound of humming. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes, and before long G’raha was singing softly along with him. The song was a fairly common one, something that you might hear from a street busker, a story about star-crossed lovers fated to wander in search of one another. It did have a happy ending, depending on the bard who performed it… and Yhen’a, who was an absolute _sucker_ for happy endings, always made sure he played up the last verse when they finally found one another. G’raha stopped singing before the end, though, and Yhen’a tilted his head a little, then played the bridge again and sang it himself. He had a light tenor, which would have been wonderfully complimented by G’raha’s lower voice _if_ the stubborn Seeker would quit pouting and sing with him. Unfortunately, he did not, and so Yhen’a finished the song alone and resisted the urge to grumble.

The sound of the tent flap lifting caught his attention, and Yhen’a turned a little to see G’raha studying him. “… that’s not part of the song,” he said.

_Aha._ Yhen’a grinned and turned toward him, plucking a chord on the small harp. “It is,” he replied cheekily. “It depends on who sings it and where, but this song has a happy ending.”

“It isn’t supposed to,” G’raha replied, pushing out of the tent and standing in front of him, one hand on his hip. “The whole point of it is that they’re cursed by the gods and never able to reunite!”

“Not until they find favor,” Yhen’a said, shaking his head. “If you’ll notice the wording of that verse, the gods forgave them eventually.”

G’raha crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “Some stories don’t have happy endings,” he said flatly.

Yhen’a raised his eyebrows at him. Ruby-red and teal eyes gazed back at him, and he flicked his ears. “No?” he asked quietly. “It seems to me like the author of the story gets to make that choice… and in this case, that verse is definitely part of the original manuscript.”

“Hmph.” G’raha shook his head, then sat down across from him. “If that’s the case, why does nobody include it? I’ve heard that song more times than I can count.”

“Probably because more ale gets sold when the mood is mournful,” Yhen’a replied with a snort, shrugging and plucking another chord. “The more tears, the better- depending on how one reads the audience, and the establishment. I’ve played in some that are, ah… less than savory.” Now fully focused on G’raha, Yhen’a could see the dark circles beneath his eyes- he’d not slept well, if at all, since Unei, Doga, and Nero had been sucked into the Void.

G’raha’s tail gently whapped the ground. “I didn’t figure you for someone who’d venture into a house of ill repute,” he said, his tone holding _just_ a hint of a challenge.

Yhen’a grinned lazily, fingers picking out a spritely tune- one he played often in said houses of ill-repute. “Bards go where the coin is best, usually,” he replied. “Taverns tend to be the most obvious choice, and, well- some of them are seedy.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing to me if a man wants to buy a woman’s company… or, whatever combination of genders that happens to be, I’ve seen most everything.”

G’raha’s face turned red- he looked absolutely scandalized. “W-well,” he sputtered, “I should think the coin would be just as good at a place that doesn’t sell _people!_”

“It can be.” Yhen’a tilted his head, flicking his ears. “… but, like I said, I don’t care what people choose to do- that’s their business. There’s nothing wrong with wh-”

“_Don’t_ say it,” G’raha warned, holding a hand up to stop him. The poor thing was as red as his hair, and Yhen’a couldn’t resist the urge to grin.

“Sounds like Sharlayan is more prude than I thought,” Yhen’a said, amused, “which, given the man I know best from there, seems a surprise.” Taking pity on G’raha and his poor sensibilities, Yhen’a steered the conversation back to the music. “Do you want to hear the verse again?”

G’raha pouted for just a second, then sighed and lifted a hand. “Go ahead,” he said.

Being able to see him was quite a bit different than just hearing him sing along, and Yhen’a stole a glance or two at him every now and again. He looked interested, ears perked forward as he listened, the tip of his tail twitching every now and then. When he finished, Yhen’a smiled. “See? Isn’t it better with a happy ending? I figured with that unending optimism you have to your name that you’d have enjoyed it more.”

G’raha was quiet for a few breaths, then he lifted his eyes to Yhen’a’s. “I like it,” he admitted. “It… feels good to listen to it this way.”

Yhen’a smiled and strummed a major chord. “Sometimes it’s fun to play songs that are sad, but I like to see my audience happy in the end,” he said. “… no matter who they are.” Mismatched eyes widened, then G’raha _hmphed_ again and looked up at the Tower. Yhen’a sighed a little. “… I’m not sorry I sent you back, if that’s what you want,” he said. “Xande nearly did me in, and I’m no healer. I couldn’t have saved you if he’d decided to whack you as hard as he whacked me, and I’d rather not watch you die if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’m not upset about it.” G’raha didn’t look away from the Tower, but he didn’t need to for Yhen’a to know that he wasn’t being _entirely_ truthful… but there was clearly something else weighing on him. “… this place… it isn’t what I expected,” he said quietly.

Yhen’a raised an eyebrow. “You expected rainbows and sunshine?” he asked blandly.

G’raha gave him a half-hearted glare. “No,” he said, “but I didn’t expect Voidsent, either.” He looked back up at the Tower and bit his lip. “It’s dangerous, Yhen’a. I thought, initially, that it would be a wellspring of hope- but it seems…” He trailed off.

“Now now,” Yhen’a said, shaking his head, “don’t give up on it just because we’ve hit a rough patch! We’ll get our friends back, seal up the portal, and then we’ll- you’ll- be able to explore it proper, all to your heart’s content.”

Catching his stumble, G’raha looked back at him and smiled a little. “Won’t you stay a little while after?” he asked. “I’m sure there’s plenty for you to do, but there’s so much good about Allag- surely some of it remains.”

Yhen’a smiled. “There,” he said gently. “Brooding doesn’t suit you. I’m sure there’s plenty of good, and I’m sure you’ll find all of it. Of course I’ll come back, yeah? I don’t know when or how often, but I’ll want to hear all about it when I do.”

G’raha looked startled, then he quickly looked back at the Tower before slowly lowering his gaze to Yhen’a’s. “I… would like that,” he finally said, his smile warming a bit. “It’s a promise, then. Once this is over with, I’ll uncover the best things about the Tower- and I’ll show them to you, each and every one.”

\--

_He doesn’t know why he’d chosen this song. It has been years since he played it, surely the chords will come clumsily and the words will be out of order… yet it comes to his lips easily, his fingers dance along the harp strings as though he’d played it just yesterday. The Wandering Stairs was an excellent place to unwind at the end of a long day- or series of days- and Yhen’a could often be found there, along with an audience that was sometimes of admirable size._

_That night, as he plays, he happens to glance up. He feels eyes on him, which is expected, given that he is performing, but… this is different. The Crystal Exarch happened to be passing by and had stopped to listen, it seems. Yhen’a turns his attention back to the harp, at least until the last verse, when he glances up again from beneath too-long silvery bangs. Almost absently the Exarch seems to be singing along, or at least mouthing the words… and Yhen’a looks back down again, a small smile curving his lips as he sings._

_Well, well…_

_He is gone when the song ends, but the warm feeling that had made itself at home in Yhen’a’s breast remains- and there it stays, throughout the rest of the evening and well into the following weeks._

_He **does** remember._


End file.
